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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29741166">Dreamcatcher</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrel/pseuds/Zephyrel'>Zephyrel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dimension Travel, Dreams, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, Multi, Other, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:22:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29741166</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrel/pseuds/Zephyrel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingers rubbing her temples in soothing circles, she mutters, "I don't feel crazy. The dreams, they feel real. There's so many people, and they're all different and so- so real. I don't have the creativity to think all that up myself."</p><p>Her partner notices a grim shadow settling over the woman's face. He quietly offers her a hand. She takes it, and whispers, voice small, "You know, I tried telling one of them they weren't real. You'd think that a figment of my imagination would just take it."</p><p>"Mhm." His calloused thumb sweeps comfortingly over the back of her hand. "They didn't take it well?"</p><p>A sad smile kisses the corner of her lips. "No, he didn't. He told me to never come back if I was so convinced they weren't real."</p><p>"They have names, right? What's his?"</p><p>"Levi," she murmurs, the name bitter in her mouth. "Levi Ackerman."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hange Zoë/Original Character(s), Levi Ackerman &amp; Original Female Character(s), Levi Ackerman &amp; Reader, Levi Ackerman/Original Female Character(s), Levi Ackerman/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Introducing-</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“One medium, iced vanilla latte please.”</p><p>“That’ll be $4.87.”</p><p>The highschooler presses her credit card against the card reader, a perfunctory beep emanating from the machine. She slides into an empty booth nearby, shrugging her knapsack off beside her and scrolling aimlessly through her phone. There was nothing much new to see in her feed; she’d already gone through all the posts she’d missed while sleeping in the morning.</p><p>The coffee shop is a quaint, small affair. She likes to come study here; the quiet atmosphere and heady scent of coffee grounds puts her in a good mood. Whether she actually gets any work done for it is another story entirely.</p><p>“Iced vanilla latte!”</p><p>Putting her phone down, she picks up her drink from the front of the café and quietly thanks the barista. She examines the pretty swirl of creamy, coffee-pearl colored slush and takes a sip out of the straw. Cold tickles the back of her neck and the icy feeling lingers all the way down her chest and stomach. When she looks up again from her drink though, she sees someone sat in her booth, across from her belongings.</p><p>“Um, sorry,” she places her drink down next to her phone and gestures to her knapsack, “I was already sitting here.”</p><p>The woman across from her smiles, lush lips a captivating rouge. When she speaks, her voice is honeyed, grounding. “Would you mind if I joined you? I quite like the view from this spot.”</p><p>The teen feels herself flush, an unnerving tingle flitting over her neck and cheeks, and she awkwardly stands to the side of the table, unsure of how to proceed. There are at least two other empty booths on this side of the shop, all with equally good views of the plain street outside. Is there something particularly sentimental about this scenery? It looks mundane to her.</p><p>The woman motions for her to sit with a slender, gloved hand.</p><p>She sits.</p><p>Time passes, and she isn’t sure when she stops feeling nervous in the presence of this stranger until she starts feeling unexpectedly calm and relaxed. She glances at the person sitting in front of her, and finds her gazing out the window, chin resting comfortably in the heel of her hand, small earrings peeking out from behind a curtain of dark hair. As though feeling her stare, the woman’s gaze shifts to her. A twinkle of amusement lights up her dark brown eyes, and the highschooler can’t help but watch the curve of her lips as she opens them to speak. “Sorry darling, but I’m afraid I’ve been a bit dishonest with you.”</p><p>She blinks. They’d only spoken two sentences to each other at most. When did she lie? Before she could ask, the woman continues, “I don’t really like street-views. I much prefer people watching.”</p><p>The embarrassing flush returns with a vengeance as this woman, easily carrying an air of elegance around her, unabashedly checks her out.  Warmth pools in her chest but she can’t find it in herself to return the evaluating stare.</p><p>The woman slides a business card over to her. “I’m an artist, and I like to do portraiture. It’s been a long time since I’ve met a muse like you. I’m sorry if this sounds strange, but could I please take picture of you? For reference only, of course.” She laughs, and the sound is breathy and pleasant. “I’ll even send you a copy of the finished product, if you like.”</p><p>The girl straightens in her seat and offers a timid, genuine smile. “That would be so cool. I’d love to have a copy of the final piece too.”</p><p>The woman grins, the flash of her teeth dazzling. She pulls a professional, DSLR camera from her purse and begins adjusting its lens. “Terrific! Take whatever pose you like.”</p><p>Feeling a little self-conscious, the teen tries her best to look casual. She pulls out her laptop and sweeps her hair over her shoulder, pretending to study like she normally does. The woman hmms and ahhs encouragingly, occasionally asking her to adjust herself one way or another. Just a couple of clicks later and it was over.</p><p>“Thank you so much.” The woman whistles approvingly at her new pictures as she clicks through them on her camera. Her eyes glitter brightly in excitement. “These will really help me with my work. Could you write down where you’d like me to send a copy of the piece when I’m done?” She flips her business card over and extends a pen towards the girl in one fluid motion, then takes both items when the girl finishes scribbling her address down.</p><p>“Let me know if you ever want to take up modeling, okay darling? You’ve got a bright future ahead of you.” The woman packs her camera away before slinging her purse over the arm of her silk suit.</p><p>“How can I contact you?” The highschooler blurts, not wanting for this chance to pass her by. She knows very well that the woman may just be saying all this to make her feel better and doesn’t intend to actually follow through, but surely the fact that this person went out of their way to take these pictures said something about her appearance and her natural potential?  </p><p>The breathy chuckle that escapes the woman confirms the girl’s suspicions though, and her shoulders droop. A fond smile crosses the woman’s lips. “Don’t worry about my contact information. I’m always around,” she reassures her, hand waving in no particular direction. “I’m sure we’ll meet again should the need ever arise.”</p><p>The stranger gently pats the teen’s shoulder and, running her hand along the backs of the booth stalls, strides out of the small coffee shop, the cheery tinkle of the store bells the only remaining sign of the encounter.</p><p>---</p><p>When the highschooler arrives home later in the evening, her mother rushes her into the family room. Men are crowded around the coffee table, and the girl recognizes many of the faces. These are people she’d grown up with seeing in her home – friends and colleagues of her father. They all help each other out and keep each other’s families safe. As the teen ages, she begins to recognize the darker undertones that keep her family connected to many of the faces around the room. Whispers of underground dealings, gangs and what not. Whenever she asks though, the creases between her father’s eyebrows deepen and he simply says, “When you’re older.” So patiently, she waits.</p><p>Today, the familiar, well-loved faces are dark with worry, some with disgust. The highschooler pushes into the ring surrounding the coffee table, and sees her father sitting in the center, glaring furiously at the mess on the table. Brown packaging is strewn all over the surface and an upside down, splintered canvas acts as an out-of-place centerpiece.</p><p>Carefully, she reaches out to turn the canvas over. The fabric is still wet from the paint, and it has smudged from where the weight of the frame has pressed the paint into the table. The piece flops precariously along the middle where someone has cracked it in half, and she gingerly places it right-side up.</p><p>Holding the two pieces together, the girl sees… herself. The piece is a hyper-realistic painting of the coffee shop she was in this afternoon, colours bright and welcoming. But instead of where she was sitting early that day, she is painted in another seat, by the baked treats. At her favorite table-for-two. She has her arms folded on the tabletop, her cheek resting comfortably against them, eyes closed and lips turned up in whatever dreamy reverie she’d cooked up. It is a common sight in the shop; the highschooler never pretends to be at the top of her class, preferring to nap over study.</p><p>The painting is cheery and beautiful. Nothing is out of place.</p><p>Except for the blade sticking out of her neck. Except for the crimson blood streaming down onto her school uniform.</p><p>One of her father’s closest friends reaches over and slaps the canvas out of her hands. It clatters to the table and splinters further with the force. The tension in the room is palpable.</p><p>“I- I think I met the painter who drew this today,” the girl stammers. A fine tremble travels down from her fingertips to her toes, and the ghost of a gentle touch on her shoulder has her jerking.</p><p>Her father is in front of her immediately, tattooed arms enveloping her in a comforting embrace. His tone is one of leashed wrath. “Who.”</p><p>She wracks her memory – red lips, dark hair, and an elegance she has never seen before - but that’s it. Her face, what did her face look like? </p><p>Distraught eyes turn to her father. “I can’t remember. She had dark hair but I- I can’t remember her face at all.”</p><p>“Did she say anything to you?” A man from across the room asks. “Anything at all?”</p><p>“She, she said I could be a model, that I was her muse.” She licks her lips, her mouth dry, and whispers, “When I asked her how I could contact her in the future, if she ever wanted me to model for her again or anything, she said she’d always be around, and that we’d meet if the need should ever arise again.”</p><p>Seemingly innocent words now drip with a hidden venom. The girl feels herself fade into the background as the din in the room grows. The men speak amongst each other intensely, trying to decide on what to do next, on a potential list of perpetrators. In the back of her mind, she feels her mother come up behind her and place a comforting arm around her shoulder. Her mother says something to her and tugs, as though to bring her out of the room, but all the girl can see is the elaborate maze of out-of-place swirls in the corner of the painting. She shrugs her mother off and moves closer, fingernail tracing the calligraphy, trying to remember her cursive.</p><p>“Goddess,” she eventually deciphers. The word sits heavily on her tongue.</p><p>The girl gets the feeling that this particular goddess isn’t the benevolent type.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is my first fic in a long time, and I'm in it for the long haul. Been binging Levi fics and wanted to write my own. Hopefully it turns out okay, and that you lovely readers enjoy along the way! :) Please leave a comment to tell me what you think if you have time, it helps with the writer's block and with any motivation. Cheers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Partner-</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s done. Mhm. The other half of the deposit. Yes, same account.”</p><p>A momentary pause. Ivory stilettos click softly into the elevator, and skin-thin gloves drop into an open purse. The revealed hand presses against a sensor panel, sending the elevator and its passenger up, up and up.<br/>
</p><p>“I believe we agreed on the amount beforehand.” The luxurious voice clashes unnervingly with the echo of voice distortion through the phone. “I believe we also chatted about the consequences of backing out, Goddess.”</p><p>The elevator doors slide open silently, and the woman strides out into a softly lit, rectangular foyer. Two suite doors face each other at each side of the room, barely a couple of meters apart, but the woman ignores both and steps towards the wall in front of the elevator. A glass foyer table leans abstractedly against this wall, its deeply slanted tabletop surface appearing as though its designer had lifted one corner of the table glass to eye level and then decided to keep it there, held suspended in the air by its delicate sister corner. In the center of the worrying piece of furniture sits a simple vase, its base similarly slanted and somehow managing to cling to the tabletop despite the call of gravity. </p><p>The woman absent-mindedly reaches around the vase and strokes the glass, tracing an intricate pattern. A panel slides open in the wall. Light beams from the revealed slit and scans her irises. The woman waits patiently as white robotic arms extend out of the paneling of the two parallel suite doors, gently removing her suit jacket and purse. She presses firmly on a portion of the marble wall beside the table, and the stone slips away of its own accord, granting entrance.</p><p>The woman slowly shakes her head as the voice on the other line grows increasingly frenzied. “A deal is a deal darling. I delivered.” Her tone is purposefully gentle, but she supposes the effect is lost through the voice distorter. “Now it’s your turn. Two hundred thousand by midnight, Goddess. Enjoy your evening.”</p><p>The suite is silent in the wake of her hanging up. Silent and dark, stray bands of moonlight seeping through vaulted skylights serving as the only source of illumination. It’s enough for her though, and slipping out of her heels, she makes her way deeper into the penthouse. The marble flooring is cool beneath the thin soles of her pantyhose, and the ghost of her reflection follows her down the hall, ethereal in the glass paneling that separates the rooms. </p><p>She slides one wall of paneling to the side and is greeted with a wave of warmth as she steps into the space. The room is an atrium of sorts, repurposed into a greenhouse. Lush greenery has made the atrium its home, and a stream of water babbles contentedly over a rough pyramid of granite and slate on the far wall. She spies her favorite seat by the water, but as she approaches, she notices with mild dismay a figure already lying in the hanging hammock.</p><p>Her assistant and partner – though she’d never admit the latter – is dead to the world, long limbs splayed haphazardly, mouth open wide enough to catch flies. A thin line of drool trails from the corner of his lips down past his jaw, and she scowls.</p><p>“Chi-Chi.” She kicks the swinging piece of furniture and sends it rocking. “What have we said about sleeping in my hammock.”</p><p>Chi-Chi jerks unceremoniously at the rude awakening. Instead of falling out of the hammock as she’d hoped though, his sleep-addled brain manages to turn him to one side with a grace the man would never possess awake. The woman purses her lips and claps twice. Bright lights flood the room and Chi-Chi groans with displeasure. </p><p>The momentary satisfaction she feels at the man’s discomfort is quickly replaced with a building fury after a quick glance around the now-lit room. Papers and metal parts are scattered in chaotic piles throughout the room. Her potted plants, carefully arranged to artistic perfection, have been pushed to the perimeter to make room for the mess. Faintly, she makes out scratches along the marbled walkway. </p><p>She stills, straightens, and waits.</p><p>Chi-Chi eventually rolls out of the hammock and onto his ass, groggily rubbing his eyes. He smiles obliviously when he finally registers the woman staring down at him. “Boss! You’re back. How did the job go? Did you see Robert at the door? I upgraded him again so his arms are more dexter-”</p><p>His words fumble to a halt as he takes in his surroundings. The sleepy rosiness in his cheeks fade to ghost, and all at once he stares with newfound fear at the figure in front of him, who stands calm as the eye of a storm. His mouth gapes open and close, open and close. </p><p>The woman exits the atrium, sparing him not a single glance, but the man follows doggedly, desperately at her heels, a torrent of frantic excuses spilling over each other in their haste to be heard. The greenhouse had the most space and he really wants to make Robert as useful as he can and he was so tired after working hard all day and it won’t happen again but isn’t Robert amazing now and there’s dinner in the kitchen he made cake please don’t be mad it won’t happen again and don’t be like this the rest of the place is always so cold the greenhouse is the only room that’s remotely warm and-</p><p>Chi-Chi stops with a gulp, new words caught in his throat when his boss suddenly halts and he nearly crashes into her. She inclines her head slightly towards him.</p><p>“Are you telling me,” her voice warm in tone but feeling more and more like ice in his ears, “That your engineering genius is unable to operate a voice-controlled thermostat?” </p><p>Nervously biting his lip Chi-Chi takes a deep breath to start a new tirade. “N-no ma’am! Also, I baked your, it’s your favorite cake and-!” </p><p>But his boss cuts him off by sharply snapping a door shut in his face. He hears, “I don’t want to see a single scratch on my marble when I wake up tomorrow,” as her footsteps fade behind the walls. </p><p>He sinks, back against the door, thumb between his teeth. Before he can catch his breath, the steps quickly reapproach, and the door cracks open a sliver. “And bring me some cake Chi-Chi.”</p><p>His eyebrow twitches at the use of his nickname, but barely a breath passes before he’s back from the kitchen, passing her a plate with cake and a fork. She hums in acknowledgement and delicately slices a bite to enjoy. The tension visibly melts from her shoulders as she chews, and she leans against the doorframe. “Delectable,” she praises after a pause. “As per usual.”</p><p>Chi-Chi perks up. Wringing his wrists, he hazards a question. “So how did the job go?”</p><p>“Fine. Goddess tried to weasel their way out of the final payment, but that’s not anything new. If you don’t see what they’re supposed to pay in the account by midnight, let Arturo know. He’ll take care of it.” </p><p>He nods. Hesitation creeps into his voice and he squeaks, “And, ah, what did you end up doing with the girl?” </p><p>The woman quirks an eyebrow at him. She chooses that moment to take another bite of cake and Chi-Chi finds himself filling the silence with prattling excuses. “It’s not like- I was just curious. You made me watch her for such a long time and I just wanna know-”</p><p>“If your little crush is still doing okay?” A wry smile quirks the corner of her lips. “Don’t worry kid, she’s fine. Maybe a little spooked is all.” </p><p>Before he can say another word, he finds a forkful of cake stuffed in his mouth and an empty plate in his hand. “Remember, Chi-Chi, not a single scratch on my marble.” At the man’s crestfallen face, the woman relents. “Do it tomorrow. I’ll check in the evening when I get home.”</p><p>“Thank you, boss!” He garbles around the mouthful of cake, waist bent in a fumbling bow towards the now-closed door. Straightening, he brings the plate to the kitchen to wash. As he mindlessly scrubs the crumbs and frosting off the dish, he realizes with a start that he’d forgotten to tell his boss of the small gift he’d left at her bedside table. </p><p>It should be fine though, he thinks, clean dish finding its place on the drying rack. It’s just a sleep charm after all.</p><p>---</p><p>What is this? The woman turns the sphere around in her fingers contemplatively, her other hand busy brushing her teeth. Another one of Chi-Chi’s projects?</p><p>The sphere is just bigger than a marble, and what a pretty, simple little thing it was. Held to the light of her bathroom vanity, the ball is brightly translucent. But when she looks at it in the palm of her hand, its center takes on a darker, shifting opacity, as though its core is half-filled. She spits into the sink and changes into her nightgown, appreciating the smooth coolness of the sphere all the while as she rolls it between her fingers.</p><p>She decides that she’ll simply ask him tomorrow before she leaves for her next assignment. Perching on the side of her bed, she quickly empties a couple of pills from her nightstand collection and swallows them dry, in hopes that one will finally grant her rest tonight. The sheets feel gloriously cool against her tired limbs, and in the cocoon of her duvet, she gropes under her pillows, hand only resting upon closing on the cold metal grip of her pistol. </p><p>The endless drone of thoughts are quiet tonight and behind the inky blackness of her eyelids is an elusive calm. She’s surprised – easy rest has been a stranger to her for a long time. Not one to turn away an innocent gift, she waits for sleep to come, the pistol, her guard and safety, and the strange sphere, a cooling weight in her palm.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think I'm going to try to update once every two weeks, ideally once a week. I have an idea for where the story should go, but it takes a lot of time of me just staring at the screen, trying to flesh out how to say what I want to say... Sorry I'm slow ^^' And sorry the chapters are short. They'll pick up; I just want to set a bit of the background-ish for now. If you have time, please leave a comment 😊 they make my day and keep me wanting to write (feels less like I'm screaming into a void LOL). Hope you all have a great day~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Desert-</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s still, when the woman opens her eyes. Still, and too silent.</p><p>Dreams had become a scarce event for her since long, long ago. But the vast expanse of sand that stretches before her- the thick bands of light that shimmer through the sky like auroras- the landscape that is at once reminiscent of earth and yet entirely alien-</p><p>If not a dream, then what else?</p><p>She sits, knees tucked tight to her chest. This... place. It rings a chord of nostalgia deep inside her heart. But from where? The memory flits tantalizingly away from her grasp.</p><p>Her mind feels hazy, feels stuffy. What a long dream, she eventually thinks. How long have I been sleeping? She raises her head and stares, eyes glazed, into the monotonous desert of beige surrounding her. Then suddenly, in the distance; a flicker of movement. The woman’s limbs slowly unfurl around herself. In her ears, she hears the rush and return of her steady, throbbing pulse.</p><p>That’s right. There’s something that- that I had to do. My promise. That boy… he-</p><p><em>Chi-Chi</em>.</p><p>The woman straightens with a jolt, the hem of her simple nightgown falling back down to her knees. The sand shifts beneath her bare feet as she tentatively steps forward. Off in the horizon, the auroras branching through the sky converge into a dense trunk that spills into the far-off earth. There, among all the dull greys and pale yellows, she sees unnatural protrusions, breaking up the otherwise even undulations of sand dunes.</p><p>There, in this unliving desert, she’d seen signs of movement. Signs of life.</p><p>She sets forward.</p><p>---</p><p>She seems to have been walking for both forever and mere moments when she comes across the first foot.</p><p>The appendage is, in a word, giant. She’s tall, for a woman, and even the top of her head barely clears the top of its big toe. The skin is incredibly smooth, and feels almost fleshy; when she digs her fingers into the nail, however, her hand comes away with chunks of sand that disintegrate into the air.</p><p>After the first comes more. Sculptures initiated then stopped, for seemingly no reason. They all start with the feet, and build upward, some relatively small but some so high that she has to arch her back and tilt her head to see where the statue ends, and the sky begins.</p><p>It’s only after she passes dozens of these statues that she sees her. A small girl.</p><p>She carries a pail, and wears a tan, raggedy tunic. Her stringy blonde hair frames her face, bangs hiding her eyes from view. Arms straining to hold onto the pail, she hobbles up a spiral ramp, towards the shoulders of a complete sculpture.</p><p>This one is smaller than the rest. Its face is twisted in an expression of agony – and no wonder why. Slivers of what seem to be its cheeks have fallen in grotesque strands of skin and muscle. The girl reaches its shoulder and steps onto it, small hands stretching towards the wounds.</p><p>Curiously, the woman steps onto the spiral ramp, and approaches her. “Excuse me,” she murmurs after reaching her side. “Where are we?”</p><p>The girl’s hands still, and her head turns slowly to look at her. Her hooded eyes seem to stare without seeing.</p><p>But then she sees the woman’s face. Her hands drop to her side and her mouth opens, just slightly. No sound comes out. The woman smiles disarmingly, and kneels to the child’s level, gently smoothing her own expression into one of practiced kindness. She extends a hand cautiously to hold the girl’s arm. “Hey, are you okay?”</p><p>With a face of stone, the child avoids her grip and side-steps back onto the ramp. Her small hands whip out with surprising speed and strength, shoving the woman sideways. Startled, she lands on the statue’s shoulder, balanced precariously on her side. Before she can steady herself, the child places both hands against the sculpture’s shoulder and <em>pushes</em>.</p><p>The woman’s eyes widen in surprise and there’s no time to even scream because she’s falling, falling, falling through space. In the millisecond it takes for her to blink, she’s blinded and disoriented by light that explodes from everywhere and yet nowhere all at once.</p><p>Eyes screwed tightly shut, her hands grasp uselessly for something – anything – to hold onto, and-</p><p>Rope- there’s rope-!</p><p>Greedily, her hands close around cord, feeling its fleshy material stretch in her grip, feeling it <em>burn</em> her palms, feeling herself falling- <em>fuck</em>, she’s still falling-</p><p>Until she’s not. She collapses unceremoniously on her ass, skin stinging from the impact. It’s not sand cushioning her fall though – there’s, grass? She stumbles to her feet, hands feeling raw from heat and pain as she judiciously grinds a few fingers against her eyes to rub the lightshow behind her lids away.</p><p>Her ears are ringing terribly from the- the explosion?- but her sensations have lost their dream-like fuzziness. The desert world where the air felt like cotton gauze smothering her every sense has been stripped away with little apology- cool wind hits her bare legs and the pebbles beneath her feet dig uncomfortably into the skin of her soles, some sharp enough to cut. Her sense of smell recovers next, though she wishes it hadn’t. The putrid, vile stench of rotting flesh invades her nose and despite her training, despite her practice even she can’t help the instinctive heave of her stomach, the bile rising in her throat.</p><p>It’s her hearing though, that really…</p><p>Ringing resolves into shrill, wanton screaming and against the sensitivity of her eyes, the woman forces them open in alarm.</p><p>In that moment, she doesn’t recognize what she sees, nor really, what she hears. It’s like staring into an expanse of colors – beige, blue, white, red, pink – pieced together abstractedly, an object too close to her eyes for her brain to compute, or like something seen in a- an art museum, dedicated to cubism and surrealism, if art museums had screaming banshees-</p><p>She doesn’t have the chance to finish her thought. Something shoves her violently from behind and she flies to the side, breath leaving her chest as she lands on her stomach. She feels the familiar rush of cold rage pooling inside her, calming her nerves and simultaneously lighting them on fire, bringing the world into sharp focus. Who the fuck <em>are </em>these people and where do they get off on pushing-</p><p>And perhaps it’s good that she’s furious, perhaps it’s good that the instincts she’d left to rust are being unforgivingly roused from retirement.</p><p>Because as her brain finally accepts the input from her eyes, as she finally recognizes the beiges and blues and whites and reds for what they are, for the grotesque sculpture of the desert world made living and breathing-</p><p>She doesn’t think the her of today could handle the nightmarish sight before her eyes.</p><p>No, she concludes, as the giant reaches its colossal hand for the person who’d thanklessly pushed her out of the way. Oversized Lovecraftian monsters were <em>far </em>above the paygrade of a painting con-woman for hire.</p><p>But as adrenaline engulfs her body like the embrace of an old friend; as her muscles come alive in the first time for years-</p><p>Perhaps, she thinks, the past she’d deigned to leave behind could finally be of some use.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi C: this one was rather fast and just itching to be written, so I got it out quickly (but it is a little shorter). Leave a comment if you have the time - I would love to hear your thoughts, comments, questions, concerns!</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ilse-</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spring 848 – 34<sup>th</sup> Expedition</p><p>Deep in the forest, Ilse Langnar prepares herself to take her final breaths. The rough bark of the tree. The stench of the Titan’s breath panting into her face. Her fingers, clenched so tightly around her little pencil, her little notebook.</p><p>
  <em>I have lived a whimsical life. I haven’t even done anything for my parents yet. I feel sick. The end. </em>
</p><p>Tears stream down her face, and in the face of certain, painful death, the regret she feels for not going to see her parents the past holidays is what sharpens and grips the inside of heart. Years, has it been years since she last saw them? Since she enlisted? They would have nothing to remember her by. No one from her flank of the expedition survived except her – and now she would be dead too. Most soldiers’ families have some form of burial with the bodies the Corps manage to bring home, or at least have some of their children’s belongings returned to them when they pay the ultimate price. But her parents won’t even get any of her possessions, much less her body for a burial. Ilse never collected many personal belongings, and what she did have, she brought with her. Her notebook, for instance. Fat teardrops plop onto the open page, and she hurries to wipe it away from her words.</p><p>Her parents only have her, and what a useless daughter she turned out to be. Would they be okay for the coming winter? She sends whatever meager pay she gets from the Corps back to them. She hopes the Commander will still send her family the pay she is due at the end of the month.</p><p>She hopes they’ll live long lives.</p><p>She hopes her sacrifice, and those of her friends, will mean something.</p><p>She hopes, she hopes, she hopes, she hopes…</p><p>So caught up in her thoughts, Ilse doesn’t notice the Titan’s mouth move until she hears the slow and guttural but easily understandable speech.</p><p>“Subject of Ymir.” The titan bends its head down to touch the grassy meadow, body prostrated in a clear sign of subservience. Ilse's pencil pauses in her surprise, before flurrying across the page with newfound urgency. “Miss Ymir. Well met.”</p><p>
  <em>It spoke. The titan is speaking words that I can understand.</em>
</p><p>The dread roaring deep in her stomach just barely subsides, tempered by the wonder flaring in her brain. This must be the first time in history for anyone to communicate with a Titan. Steely resolve stems the flow of her tears, and though Ilse hears her voice wobble, her question rings through the small meadow, clear and distinct. “What are you?”</p><p>
  <em>I asked the Titan about its nature. Instead of talking, it is moaning. </em>
</p><p>Her fingers quiver and ache with the strain of recording her thoughts, but Ilse does not notice.</p><p>“Where did you come from?”</p><p>The Titan still does not respond.</p><p>The next question tumbles forth from her mouth before she even registers it in her mind.</p><p>“Why do you eat us?”</p><p>Memories of her fallen friends, freshly dead, bitten in half and torn apart, flash before Ilse’s eyes.</p><p>And in this quiet grove, where the silence is only pierced by this moaning, convulsing Titan with pitiful expression and eyes...</p><p>Something in Ilse snaps.</p><p>“Why do you eat us?!” She screams, throat burning in rage. “You don’t die even if you don’t eat a thing! So why do you do it?! Go back to the nothingness you came from! <em>Disappear from this world</em>!”</p><p>The Titan wails in desperation, and before Ilse’s widened eyes, begins to gouge at the skin beneath its eyes, pulling until the flesh comes apart like ribbons under its blunt nails. Blood spurts across her face, and the hot sting of it surges adrenaline through her veins and Ilse’s legs tense, anxious to run when light and steam bursts from the Titan’s face and it lurches up and back and away and all Ilse can do is watch.</p><p>Watch as a person forms in a place where there once was nothing.</p><p>Watch as behind the steam and the light and the howling Titan, a human woman falls to the ground, hands gripping and tearing the torn flesh of the Titan’s cheek further in her descent. The Titan reels back in pain but Ilse sees its eyes refocus squarely on the disoriented stranger, sees it jut its head forward, mouth gaping, and Ilse hears herself let out a feral scream, feels herself push the stranger out of the way and dive out of the range of the Titan’s jaw.</p><p>She can feel it though. She’s too close to it now, she never would have been able to outrun it but perhaps she could have when the monster had been distracted and even as she forces her legs to work, as she takes as many paces as she can towards freedom, the whoosh of air behind her is telling.</p><p>So is the grip now crushing her ribs. The sudden lack of ground beneath her feet. The awful stench of rotting flesh.</p><p>In her last moments, Ilse puts pencil to paper and writes.</p><p>
  <em>Female stranger appeared out of thin air from the Titan’s wounds but it’s caught me now it has me between its teeth I can feel its teeth upon my skull</em>
</p><p>Her pencil streaks off the page as the pressure around her head disappears and is replaced with a deafening scream. The Titan gapes its mouth and rips another otherworldly shriek and it’s only when the mangling grip around her torso disappears and she plummets to the ground that she sees why.</p><p>Blood mixed with white opaque fluid drips from between the Titan’s fingers as it struggles to push the remainders of its two eyes back in place. The woman is pointing some type of pistol at the Titan. Standing in her simple nightdress, one hand aiming the gun and firing another shot that lands square in the Titan’s forehead, Ilse thinks, despite her experiences today, that this is still a strange scene, in the ever-lengthening list of strange scenes. Not only did this stranger appear out of thin air, everyone knows you can’t kill Titans except by cutting out their nape. So why…?</p><p>The woman gestures urgently towards her, words Ilse can’t understand flying out of her mouth, and Ilse wastes no time to sprint towards her and just drag her away. She doesn’t seem to need much convincing, eyes sharp and much more alert to the world than just a few moments before. The Titan continues to wail, body moving frantically to try and catch them but without its sight, it fails to notice them run in the opposite direction to its movements.</p><p>When they clear the meadow, Ilse stops them. Most of the trees in the forest are old, standing tall and proud and frustratingly unclimbable. But in the distance to her right, she sees the forest floor break into a ledge overlooking another canopy of trees, and her heart begins to whisper again with a hope that had been thoroughly squashed all but moments before. It would be a gamble, but it was nearing nighttime. They’d both have better chances of surviving when the Titans were inactive.</p><p>And if they broke a few bones in the fall, well.</p><p>The alternative was being eaten anyway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hullooo :) Finally, we're getting into things! I seem to have sorely underestimated how loud this plot bunny would shriek in my head all day (or perhaps I'm mislabeling said bunny and its real identity is just my old friend procrastination). Pounded this out and hopefully my brain will keep quiet for a bit as I try to focus on work.</p><p>I know the chapters are short (sorry) and perhaps in the future when I've written most of the story, I'll reformat things so as to combine chapters, but as of right now, it's all I can manage writing in a couple of sittings. Nevertheless, I do hope you enjoy! :) </p><p>Please leave a comment if you have the time! I love hearing what you all think and have to say and it keeps me motivated to write &lt;3 Hope you have a lovely day!</p>
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